Free Loyal Creatures by Morris Gleitzman Page A

and chlorine tablets from my first-aid kit and used that.
    â€˜We’ll have you right in no time,’ I said to Daisy. ‘Rested up and fit as a fence post.’
    I didn’t tell her how important that was. Or just how much depended on it.
    In the distance I could hear gunshots out on the battlefield, even though the battle had been over for a while. No place for wounded horses in an army on the move.
    â€˜Trooper, attenshun,’ roared a voice.
    I turned. Commotion behind me. Our blokes leading their horses to canvas troughs being set up near the wells. Everyone desperate for water.
    A sergeant yelling at me.
    Behind him, a captain.
    I stood to attention. Praying I’d patched Daisy up sufficient so they wouldn’t see how wounded she was.
    â€˜Is this the one?’ demanded the captain.
    â€˜Yes, sir,’ yelled the sergeant.
    I stood rigid, ready to hurl myself at them if they tried to shoot Daisy.
    â€˜Good work, trooper,’ said the captain.
    I blinked, confused.
    â€˜The Beersheba wells are of immense strategic significance,’ said the captain. ‘Superb initiative, that response of yours.’
    I didn’t know what to say.
    Strategic significance? Superb initiative?
    Where was Otton when you needed him.
    â€˜Ballantyne’s our water monkey, sir,’ said a voice. ‘He’s got a nose for it.’
    It was Bosworth.
    Lesney with him.
    â€˜Very well done,’ said the captain to me. ‘I’ll be recommending you for a commendation.’
    He saluted, the sergeant saluted, I saluted, Bosworth and Lesney saluted, and then the officers were gone.
    â€˜Jeez,’ said Bosworth. ‘You’re getting a medal.’
    I was chuffed of course, but there were more important things.
    â€˜Rather have ointment for Daisy,’ I said, checking to see how her bleeding was going.
    It wasn’t so bad now. I stroked her head. I could see she agreed about the ointment.
    â€˜Wait on,’ I said, remembering. ‘Otton’s got ointment. For his feet.’
    Bosworth and Lesney didn’t say anything.
    â€˜Where is Otton?’ I said.
    Bosworth and Lesney still didn’t say anything.
    They didn’t need to.
    Their faces said it for them.

We found Otton on the plain we’d charged across. About a hundred yards from the trenches. Lying under his horse.
    Both of them taken by the machine-guns.
    I sank to my knees next to them.
    When I opened my eyes, I saw it wasn’t just a battlefield any more. It was a cemetery. Dozens of graves being dug.
    Blokes who’d tried to do their bit.
    We dug a grave for Otton. I’d have buried his horse as well, but the ground was too hard and rocky. We didn’t have the right gear. We barely managed to get down deep enough for Otton’s skinny body.
    Gently we lowered him into the earth. I put his songbook onto his chest. The chaplain appeared, said a few words and moved on.
    Then we covered our Australian mate with Palestinian soil. We scratched his name onto the stock of his rifle, stuck it into the ground as a grave marker, and tied his emu feather hat to it.
    Me and Bosworth and Lesney stood, heads bowed, and said our silent words.
    We stood for a long time.

    Late that night, I did something else.
    Didn’t tell anyone about it on account of they probably wouldn’t understand and they might very likely take it the wrong way.
    I crept out of camp with Daisy.
    Back to the Turkish lines. Found the spot where me and her first hit their trenches.
    There were plenty of Turkish bodies still unburied. After a lot of hunting I found my rifle. Near to it was my bayonet, deep in the body of a bloke wearing a camouflage jacket. Next to him was another bloke, same jacket, bullet hole in the guts.
    My bullet hole, I reckoned.
    I lifted the two Turkish blokes onto Daisy’s back. She bowed her head and we walked out into the open desert. I found a spot and dug two graves.
    As gently as I